Aftershocks
by RavenRayne
Summary: RENTfic! Roger and Mimi are unhappily married, Mimi's on drugs (surprise) and Roger's slowly losing his mind. Total MarkRoger slashfest! This is my first FanFiction, hope you enjoy!
1. Losing My Tiny Mind

"Rog... I'm worried about you." 

His voice floats over the bed and under the pillows I have draped over my head. My voice cracks as I answer him. "What's to worry about, old pal? It isn't the first time, and it most certainly won't be the last!"

Of course we are talking about Mimi and her insane desire to fuck up our relationship along with her life. If she could just take a moment to think about anything BUT the drugs, we would be golden. But, of course, The Man always wins with his slick charms and his beautiful drug. "Got any D, man? Got any C, man," I warble from under the pillow and Mark let loose a low slow wistle.

"You're worse off than I though, Rog. You've gotta get a grip," he says to me, and I throw off the pillows and covers and jump out of bed in one swoop. I am sick of the bullshit depression I am in. I am sick of Mimi's antics and I am sick of my good friend Mark feeling sad and scared over me.

I run to the door. Mark lookes at me as if he doesn't know if he should run and hide or play along. "A grip on WHAT, Marky?" I shriek, laughing maniacally and grabbing his cheeks in my hands. "On these?" I smile. He looks up at me, and I see a flicker of something in his eyes.

"Your eyes," he starts, and I cackle and warble again. "Your eyes/the ones that stare at me in surprise/you were there all along/and before this song dieeeees/ I should tell you/Mimi is back on drugs/You can see the truth in my eyeeeees." I stop singing. I lean forward a bit as if to tell him a secret, almost touching my forehead to his. "You gotta understand, Pal... She is. And I'm really tempted to join her." and suddenly I have an insane desire to kiss him. Kiss Mark. Because he is reliable, and solid, and safe and always there. I stare him straight in the eyes.

And then, I pass out.


	2. She Even Has Maureen Fooled

I wake up to people around me. And, of course, right in my face kneels good old Mimi. The drug addict. My WIFE. And she is, of course, high as a fucking kite. Not that I am surprised. Oh, and she's sure put on the good wife act this time. Her eyes are red, and she's pretending that's from crying over being worried. She's so good she even has Maureen conviced. And Reenie is a great actress. She can usually spot a lying bitch at 20 paces. 

Damn my head hurts. Mimi is pouting that sultry pout and asking me over and over if I can hear her. What the fuck? I pass out, and suddenly I'm unable to hear? I fell DOWN, not deaf.

I have no patience for her. None. Where's my good old pal, Marky? Surely he wouldn't leave me alone with Mimi and Maureen.

"Mimi!" I hear him shout from the kitchen and she goes scuttling toward the sound. Reenie looks scared and I try to sit up before my beloved crack-fiend gets back. I manage about halfway and Maureen helps me the rest of the way. She seems distracted, as is her way, and I don't bother to ask her what's wrong. Anyone who's known Reenie for more than 20 seconds knows all about her and JoAnne. On again, off again, on again, off again... looks like this time it's more off than on.

I hear the shower go on and Mark comes out of the kitchen with a cup of ramen noodles and crackers. Ah, we are living high on the hog tonight. I get crackers!

Don't mind me. I'm feeling cynical.

I eat my ramen as fast as humanly possible. I didn't realize how hungry I am. Mark stops me twice to breathe and drink some water. "Where's Mimi" I manage to choke out between bites and Mark informs me that she is in the shower, and then she is heading to work. I know her work schedule by heart, and so does he. We both know she's not going to work.

The shower turns off just after I finish my second serving of ramen. DAMN that woman can use a lot of water. Mark offers to cook me some warm soup, because the loft is frozen, as per usual. I decline the offer and trudge toward the bedroom, bound and determined to have it out with Mimi about where she is really going.

I wait and wait and wait for her to come to the bedroom, but the raman has made me satiated and warm and I can't help but fall into the black abyss of sleep. As I drift off, I hear the front door close and a man's voice calling someone "Sugar". Damn, missed her again.


	3. Ten Minutes?

I wake back up at least an hour later. Mimi's still gone gone gone, like always. I try to remember what made me marry her in the first place, but the memory of being happy with her is long gone. It's been weeks since she's even been home for more than an hour at a time, and I'm starting to really like the whole "being alone" thing more and more. 

Mark knocks on my door, reminding me I'm not alltogether alone. Dammit. I pretend to be sleeping still.

"Rog?" he calls out quietly. I don't say anything and he cracks open the door. I really need to get a lock on that damn thing. Next thing you know Mimi will be sauntering in.

"Rog?" he says again and I groan slightly. I don't want to deal with talking about Mimi and the fact that she's a fuck-up. "ROGER," Mark says loudly and I groan again. "Mark, close the damn door and leave me alone," I finally manage to say and he laughs lightly. "I can always tell when you are feeling better, Rog. You get that asshole attitude back very quickly. Smile for the folks at home, Rog." I'm gonna break that fucking camera if he doesn't leave my room. I swear to every god there is.

But, of course he doesn't leave. Marky wants to capture my breakdown on film. Posterity for the mentally ill. Fun! Ladies and Gentlemen... this is the worst idea he has ever had. I'm really teetering on the edge of madness, but he keeps that god-blessed camera going all the time and I'm going to have to punch him in his regal looking nose.

"Roger, what's going on?" he asks, but I just bury my head deeper in the pillows. I hear the camera whir, telling me he finally shut the damn thing off and I hear him come closer to the bed. He slides down the wall next to the head of the bed and I can feel him staring toward me. Not that he can see me under all the covers.

"Roger... we need to talk. Were you serious? I mean... I know she's using again, but were you serious about wanting to... start again?" I peer out under the pillow. He looks so sad, until he sees me looking at him. Then he breaks out in that famous grin of his and starts his usual cheer-up-Roger banter. He won't ask me again if I was serious, and I can't bring myself to tell him I was. Boy, was I ever.

Mark starts talking about Maureen and her most recent show. She finally got a manager (I guess she called him before I got out of bed the first time to let him know). He gripes for a minute about her selling out before settling back into the patter of what has been going on while I've been sleeping. I've been sleeping for weeks.

I only half listen, you know. I can't bring myself to care about what Benny bought for the new building (He keeps promising we can move in "any day now, any day") or how many times JoAnne's called him about Reenie. Or Reenie's flirting with everything that moves (and a few things that don't!). I'm kind of just staring at the side of his face, blinking and shaking my head every once in a while so he thinks I'm listening. I'm also daydreaming about lacing Mimi's smack with rat poison somehow. I catch a couple of words, "Collins... MIT... money" and I look Mark up and down for a minute, trying to stay focused enough to understand what he's saying.

He looks me dead in the eye. "You really are not doing well, are you Rog?" he says and reaches up to push my hair out of my eyes. His hand lingers on my head for a moment, checking me for fever or just to be there for a second and I feel a sudden stirring in my cock.

I must have a funny look on my face, because he pulls his hand back quickly and looks at me. I don't move. I need to get him out of the room. "Mark? You are right. I'm not doing well. Not at all, actually. can you make me some soup? I think that might help." He smiles for the first time in what seems like forever and hops up to go to the kitchen. "Ten minutes, Rog. I'll be back."

I look at the clock. I hope I can do what I need to do in ten minutes.

----------------

He didn't close the door behind himself and I wonder if I should hop up to close it. Then I figure, fuck it. Well, no. Not fuck the door. My hand will do well enough for that job. And that's exactly what I intend to do.

Why is it that when you think there's a possibility of getting caught jerking off that it makes it that much harder to cum? I mean, usually, I could get the job done in 5 or 6 minutes if I really had to, but knowing that the door is open and that Mark may come in gives me some kind of performance anxiety. I keep glancing at the clock. 7 minutes, 8 minutes, 9... shit. I'm going to have to stop. He's going to be back. 9 minutes 30 seconds. I close my eyes and will myself to just let go or... let go. I can't do it. I can't do either. I hear Mark say "Shit" quietly at the door.

As soon as I hear him, my hand lets loose of my cock, finally. I look up at his back walking away from my bedroom door. "Shit," I say quietly and pull the covers back up over myself, my erection just as hard as it was to start with.

It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't know what I know about my dear friend Marky. Quiet little Marky. Perfect Mark, Wonderful Mark... Mark who hasn't had a date in over two years.

I can't fix this with my current... issue. "MARK," I call, and I hear him walk to the end of the hallway, furthest from my door. "Roger... just... put it away. Finish or whatever you need to do and cover back up. We'll talk later. Sorry. If I had realized you were... you know... I would have waited. Sorry," he says. I decide then. "Mark, come here," I say, quietly.

I don't know why I thought he would. Instead, I hear him go to his room and close the door.

Really really really can't fix this with a raging hard-on and the burning in my balls. Fuck it, he told me to finish. I wrap my hand back around my cock and try to continue about where I left off. It takes me another 4 minutes to cum, but when I do all I can see is Mark's face in my mind. His sad eyes, his beautiful nose, his full lips... Mark. My best friend.

I gather myself together, breathe deeply a few times and head down the hall to Mark's room. I go to knock, but I hear what sounds like a whimper. I pause for a second and it hits me. I've heard this sound so often in the past two years it should almost blend into the background sounds of the apartment, but it somehow doesn't. Instead of knocking, I sit in the hallway and listen. It is a violation that I am sure he would be angry about, but I can't help myself. He's moaning my name.


	4. I Think We Need To Talk

It takes him 15 minutes to come out of his room. And I sit in the hallway for every one of those minutes. When he comes out he looks surprised, first. Then he looks angry. But he's not sure how angry to be, because he doesn't know how much I've heard.

"We need to talk," I say and he looks suddenly panicked. I stand up and walk into the living room. I flop myself on the broken couch and pat the cushion. Mark sits and tries not to even look at me. It's driving me batshit. Short trip.

I'm not sure how to start... where to start. Do I tell him I know, that I HAVE known that he is gay? That Maureen told me way the hell back when they were dating and she'd been out drinking heavily? Do I tell him I've heard him? What do I say?

He makes a sound like a trapped animal, and I feel a sudden rush of pity. His dad used to sit him down for "talks" that always wound up with an ass kicking. Once, his dad even broke his arm. That's a story he only tells after a long day of drinking very strong liquor and lots of lead up.

"Mark," I say, and he flinches slightly. "Marky," I say more quietly and he turns towards me. There are tears in his eyes and the look on his face breaks my heart. "I should tell you," he starts, and I hold my hand up to him. "Marky, I know," I say quietly and he stares at me for a second before letting the tears fall completely. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asks and I can't answer him. I'm awkward around people who cry and I'm even more awkward around him in this moment. Something's changing, and I'm not sure I can fully understand it myself.

"I'm sorry, Mark," I practically whisper and he turns to me, looking angry. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep a secret for years from your best friend?" We stare at each other for a minute before I mutter "smack?" and he half laughs. "Addiction versus the way someone is made, Rog." He has a point, and I tell him so.

He turns to look toward the other side of the room again, and I decide to push it a little further. "Mark?" I say and he grunts a "hmm". "Mark. I should tell you... I've... heard you before." At that, he turns to me with fire in his eyes. And God strike me down, but there went my cock, twitching again. Before I could stop myself I grabbed his face in my hands and kissed him, full on those pouty lips. He immediately kissed back and I felt a spark of... I'm not sure what, but it was definately... something, fly between us.

Yes, I am definately losing my mind. But I'm not sure that's a bad thing.

------------------

We sit and talk for hours. Literal hours. The sun rises and we are still talking. I'm not even sure what all we say, but all of it seems very important. About Mark's sister, Cindy and her husband, Mike. About why he doesn't ever go to family functions since Mike and his father took turns beating the shit out of him when he was 20. About so much pain and anger and sadness. I talk about my parents and about Mimi and about how I never want to see her again, let alone sleep with her. About April and my drug habit and so many things. He talks about watching me detox, about how I screamed in agony some days coming off of the smack. How I shook for weeks afterwards... What it was like for him to walk up the stairs to the apartment each day wondering if I was going to have gone to get more smack to just stop the pain.

About seven in the morning, he leans against me, worn out from all the talking. I'm laying on the couch, pillows propped up behind me. He's between my legs, head on my chest. I like this, this supporting him for once. We keep talking, quieter now, nicer subjects. About how proud he is of me for being with Mimi this long, knowing she's on drugs and not falling back into it. About how proud I am of him for finishing two films last year. By 9 we have moved on to singing silly songs at each other. By 9:30, we have fallen asleep.

We wake up to Mimi slamming back out of the house. I don't even go after her.

She calls later, to ask about her things. I don't know if I should pretend to care that she's leaving. I can't help feeling relieved, actually. She bitches and screetches about going to her mother's house, going to her sister's house, going to find Benny. I finally wish her luck and tell her to come get her stuff. She cries and tries one last ditch effort at being the good wife. She promises to get off the smack, to start a family with me, to do anything I want. "Can you make the last three years disappear, Mimi?" I ask, and when she sounds confused, I simply hang up.

Of course I call Benny at his office to warn him. He simply groans at first, until he remembers that Muffy (as even HE calls her these days) has his cell phone and the car today. "Jesus CHRIST," he yells and hangs up, quickly. I figure he's calling Allison, so I don't bother calling back.

Mark comes in with a plate of spaghetti and a cup of coffee for me. "Warm foooood," he says and laughs a bit. I can tell he's feeling awkward about Mimi finding us asleep on the couch together. He's not sure how to even start talking about it... neither am I.

He comes back from the kitchen a second time, this time with food for himself. He grabs the phone from the couch, but walks across to the chair instead of sitting beside me. He dials a number and asks for Ms. Jefferies before I figure out he's called JoAnne. "Hey, Jo?" he says and launches into the story about how Mimi found us. I can tell JoAnne is laughing by the look he throws me. "She's going to throw you a divorce party," he says after a few minutes, "and she's contacting a friend of hers about said divorce... if you are interested."

I smile. I can't help myself. 


	5. Damn That Collins and His Meddling Ways

Two weeks later, Mimi comes by with a very large black man. I've seen him at the club before, so I decide he's playing bodyguard... against what, I haven't the slightest clue. It isn't like I would hurt her, and Mark would probably hurt HIMSELF worse than her, if he TRIED to hurt her. Ah well, C'est La Vie.

Mark decides to get me out of the house while she gets her things, and longer if possible. We head to the Life Cafe where Mark waves his cash at the waiters so they will seat us (they still haven't gotten over all the times we've had to float the bill). Once seated, I have to ask Mark where he got the money. He blushes bright crimson. "Collins," he says, still blushing, so I have to ask. "What about getting money from Collins is making you turn beet red?" He turns so red he is almost purple and says "I told him I wanted to take you out on a date. Is that... okay?"

I laugh and put my arm around his shoulders. "Mark, you are adorable. Why wouldn't it be okay?" "I mean," he says, "I wasn't sure you would want to classify it as a 'date'. I mean... It isn't like we are... DATING.. it's just us, going out to dinner like always, right?" I touch his knee under the table and he flinches slightly. I take his hand lightly and watch him visibly relax. "I don't think anything is 'like always' with us right now," I say, and the hint of a whisper of a smile crosses his face.

The Collins Fund, as we dub it, gets us soup through dessert, a bottle of wine and two bottles of beer each. And there is more left over. Mark holds it out to me. It is paperclipped and there is a note attached. "Marky and Rog, if all goes well, use this as your 'Get the fuck away from the Loft for a night-ALL night-OVERNIGHT fund' Much Love, Collins". I can't help but chuckle. I slide the wad of cash into my pocket and lead Mark out of the Life Cafe.

He starts to turn right to head back to the loft, but I touch him gently on the arm. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and turns to me. "Mark, I don't want to go home" I say casually. "Oh," he says, and then, "Where DO you want to go?" I point down the block to the new hotel they finished in the summer. "I want to go there. I want to be warm. I want to sleep in a nice, comfortable bed... with you."

He's cute when he blushes.

-----------------

On the walk to the hotel (Mark insists we walk) we talk about us. Well, first we talk about labels and why the world feels the need to label anyone. And we talk about Collins, for being such a meddling brat. And then we talk about us, and about what "us" really means. Halfway to the Hotel, we start to pass a drugstore, but I stop Mark. "Let me run in for a second," I say and he sits on the bench outside. I buy a new scarf and hat for him, another for me. I get new socks, two packs of underwear, toiletry items, toothpaste and toothbrushes, sweatpants and tourist-y tee-shirts. I grab a box of candy (Mark's favorite) and work my way up to the pharmacy.

Thank god they don't keep them behind the counter anymore. I grab two boxes of condoms and work my way up to the front. At the cashier's stand, I see they have single roses. It seems to be the perfect thing to do, so I buy one. It is red, and it suits Mark. I pay for my purchases and walk out. Mark is staring out at the traffic until he hears me shuffling along, my packages crinkling slightly in the cloth bags I bought. He smiles up at me and I hand him the rose.

That's when he starts to cry. I'm confused and sit down beside him. "Mark? Marky? What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?" I say, and he shakes his head no. He cries for a few seconds longer and wipes the tears away. "Sorry," he says and I take his hand, "It's.. just... you bought me a rose. It just... surprised me, that's all." We sit still for a few moments more before Mark says he is cold, and gets up to walk the rest of the way to the hotel.

We check in (fabulous) and get led to our room (spectacular). When the bellboy leaves, I even remember to tip him. Mark says he wants a shower and goes to take one. I call down to the concierge, and request a few things to the room. By the time Mark is done with his shower (a 45 minute long affair) everything is ready. A bottle of wine is chilling, there are roses everywhere and they have sent up a house dessert. It is an amazing 5 layer chocolate cake.

When I hear the shower turn off, I call out "My turn!" and head into the bathroom. Mark laughs and wraps himself in one of the luxurious hotel robes. "You BETTER have left me some warm water," I joke and he smiles, "Nope. Not a bit," before walking out of the bathroom. I turn on the shower, the water is blissfully hot. It takes all of two minutes before Mark is back in the bathroom.

"Something wrong?" I ask, but he doesn't say a word. He just pulls back the curtain on the shower and gets in, robe and all. "Unconventional," I manage to say, before he pushes me back against the shower wall and kisses me. I'm drowning, he's drowning, we are drowning in each other.

A minute later, he is on his knees in front of me, but I stop him. "Mark, no, we talked about this," I say. "I don't care," he says, but all I can see is him getting sick. Sex as death. I can't let him. "Marky, no, please?" I say and he looks up at me, hurt. I understand his hurt, but moreso I understand that I could never live with myself if I gave him a death sentence. He sighs and starts to leave the shower, but I pull him back. I push him against the wall as he had done to me, and I instead kneel before him.

I worship him there, his cock in my mouth. I am filled by the scent of him, by the taste of him, by the very presence of him. This time, as he moans my name, I am there. Not listening from the hallway, but bowed down before him like a slave to his master. And I would gladly be his slave to be able to see him in those moments again and again. His hips pressed forward, firmly planting himself between my lips, his shoulders against the wall, head dropped forward just far enough to watch.

I can tell by the way he says my name when the time is right. I slide a finger into his ass and he gasps and moans. When I add another, the pitch of his breathing changes. He stops moving, trying to hold perfectly still to not let loose yet, but I want him now, just like this. My fingers in his ass and his dick forced deep into my mouth, he cums. His body jerks and his cock spills forth the fluid that is nothing but his taste, his scent, his mark on me. He has branded me with it.

It just keeps coming and I swallow it all. He is shuddering above me, around me, in me. I remove my fingers gently and replace them with a soft washcloth, cleaning him. He practically falls as I turn off the water. I stand and take the now soaked robe off of him before wrapping my arms around him. I lead him gently to the bed where we cuddle up together for almost an hour before he sees fit to move again. When he does, his first move is to kiss me. "You wouldn't have happened to have picked up any condoms at the drugstore, would you?" he asks and I can't help but laugh.

"Chocolate cake," I say to him as he pulls a package out. "You know, one would think you didn't want me," he fake pouts. "Oh, I DO," I say, illustrating how much with a glance at my own cock, "But I want chocolate cake TOO!" Mark laughs and slaps my ass lightly. "You are incorrageable," he laughs and I take a bite of the cake. He grabs a bite and returns to the task at hand.

I eat another bite of cake, pretending not to watch. "Roger," he says, his voice full of authority. I look at him. "Put the cake DOWN, man. You've got a real problem," he says, making a serious "we've gotta talk" face. I can't help myself. I've got to laugh. His stern looks are adorable. I do, however, put the cake down, so I guess the voice of authority helped!

He gets the condom out and slides it over my cock with very little trouble. I almost ask how often he's done this. "A few times," he says as if reading my thoughts. "I've been with guys a few times. Always with condoms. I'm fanatical about them." I think back to the shower, but don't say a word.

I've learned that sometimes the best thing to say is nothing at all. 


	6. The Secret Lives of Chelsea Boys

The next day we walk out of the hotel, happy and restored. In fact, I'm feeling so good that I stop Mark in the middle of the lobby to kiss him. The kiss lasts so long that people stare. You would think in Alphabet City, they would be used to pretty much anything, but I guess men kissing in the middle of posh hotel lobbies isn't one of them.

The walk home is beautiful. The air is crisp and clear, for once. There is actual white snow on the ground, and I have an insane desire to make snow angels. I stop myself, of course, but the good feelings don't fade. I feel like all is right in my world.

I'm hesitant to go up to the loft, sure that Mimi has done something vile there. Surprisingly enough, when we open the door, she has left our things alone and taken only her own. I nearly cry I'm so relieved.

The machine is blinking, so Mark goes to check the messages. The first one is JoAnne, all worked up over Maureen. Mark and I grin at each other across the front room. The second message is the Cat Scratch Club, calling to ask if anyone has seen Mimi. That's odd. She always shows up to work, if for no other reason than she needs a fix on a regular basis and can't get one without the job.

Another message. "Mr. Davis, please call Lutenant Marshall Cribbon at the 73rd precinct as soon as you get this message. It's regarding your wife." Another. "Mr. Davis, this is Saint Vincent's Hospital on West 11th. Please call us as soon as you get this message."

I look at Mark. He is wide-eyed. The phone rings, and he answers it, subdued and scared. He holds the phone toward me. "It's the hospital, Rog," he says and I force myself to walk to the phone. "Mr. Davis," a woman's voice says curtly over the phone, "we've been trying to contact you since 2 AM. Your wife was brought here with blunt force trauma to the head. Her prognosis is very poor. I suggest you get yourself here as soon as possible."

I don't know why she is saying all of this over the phone... aren't there laws? She takes my silence for consent, and says, "We will see you soon," before hanging up. The dial tone buzzes in my ear and Mark comes to take the phone from me. "What's going on," he asks. I explain the conversation. I feel numb. I feel nothing. Not even pity for the woman I loved such a short time ago.

--------

The hospital is cold. Why is every place in New York so fucking cold all the time? Nothing in this entire fucking city is warm. If I could warm up, maybe I would stop feeling so damn numb.

The room is even colder than the hallways. Mimi's head is wrapped in bandages, her face blotchy and pale. She looks like a little girl. The doctor walks in behind me, catching me offguard. "Her body is shutting down," he says and I stare at him. "Sorry. What I mean is, she apparently hasn't been taking her AZT for a while. She was so high when she came in that she didn't even realize she was hurt. Her heart rate was over 200, and frankly, I'm surprised she hadn't had a heart attack. Do you have any idea how she may have gotten hurt?" I shake my head. "We are... divorcing. I saw her yesterday when she came to get her things, but my... friend took me out and I didn't even see her leave the apartment. She was still packing when I left..."

I fade off, thinking about her friend that came with her. "There was a guy. A big black guy. He's a bouncer at the club she works at. I think they call him Jarod, but I'm not sure. He came with her when she got her stuff. Maybe he knows something." The doctor nods and soon after he leaves the room.

Mark comes to the door and peers in. I motion him in and explain what's happening. I can't believe that five hours ago he and I were curled up together in the hotel. That two hours ago we were walking down the street and I was about to fling myself down on the ground to make snow angels. That an hour and a half ago we didn't even know Mimi was sick. I feel a bit ashamed that I would rather be at the loft curled up with Mark than here beside my wife in name only as her body shuts down.

It is fairly obvious it is shutting down. I would have known even without the doctor's blunt announcement. Her candle is going out. God, what a stupid fucking cliched thought. What a stupid fucking cliched life. Mimi the slut, Mimi the druggie... and she's dying of it all, here in a hospital in Chelsea. If I could, I would get her one last hit to go on. She'd want to go out that way.

But, of course, I sit still and just watch it all happen. It takes three days. Three long and pain filled days. No, I'm still numb, but Mimi's in pain. She moans a lot and the nurses give her a morphine drip. That stops the moaning, finally. I send Mark home on the second day. Collins brings me hot miso soup and cold beers that I hide from the nurses. Benny sends flowers... I wonder why people send flowers to dying people? It seems useless to me. It isn't like Mimi is appreciating the fucking things.

The third day, I wake up to machines buzzing and screaming. It is 10 AM and I watch them come in and shut machines down. I'm her "next of kin" and even I didn't really get any say in the whole thing. She had a DNR (Do Not Recesutate) card in her wallet. Her decision. Her life. Her choices, like always.

I call the family. Not her family... JoAnne's already volunteered that task. Mimi's mother is kind of insane. It's best if Jo calls her. Mimi's got a little sister who will be crushed. As I always say, I suck around people who are upset.

Collins and Mark come to pick me up. I'm tired, I stink of hospital and sweat and beer, I want a shower, a kiss from Mark and bed... not necessarily in that order. There's too much to do. Unluckily, Collins has been through this shit before. I miss Angel right now, because she would have known how to organize all this into some kind of fabulous party celebrating Mimi's life and the times she DIDN'T fuck up... right now all I can think of are all the bad times.

The loft has never felt so warm. I can't even think of a shower now. Collins gets on the phone to set up the funeral and I fall into bed. Marky kisses me gently on the forehead and tucks me in. I reach up to him, and he kisses me on the lips. "Sleep," he whispers, and good boy that I am, I listen. 


	7. Funerals and Life Support

_I just wanted to thank the reviewers! I know Rog is pretty off character (other than being a drama queen), but it's how I see him, so he is my version of Roger... Crazier and a bit softer in ways. shrugs You won't hear me apologize for it. winks_

-------

I feel like I'm always sleeping through big things. The whole fam-damn-ily that's left is at the loft by the time I wake back up. I can't even greet them because I've not showered since the hotel that night with Mark. Thank god for bathrooms. I piss and then stand in the shower, washing, until the water turns cold.

I know they were talking about me as soon as I walk into the front room. All talking stops when I appear. God, that's annoying. "What?" I say, and Maureen comes over to me and gives me a hug. "Roger, they found the guy," she says, and I'm confused. I feel like I'm missing a huge puzzle piece. "The... guy?" I say and Mark leads me to the couch. "The guy who came with her here. They found him. He did it, Rog. He confessed. She owed him money." I nod. I don't know what to say, really.

They keep talking, but my mind is blank. She owed him money. She's dead over money. Money that any one of us would have found a way to get her. Stupid fucking... "Idiot," I mutter, and Mark turns to me, confused. "Her. Mimi. She was an IDIOT!" I yell, suddenly. I'm pissed. I didn't want her in my life anymore, but I didn't want her fucking DEAD. For fuck's sake, she was 22. Idiot, idiot, idiot. If she wasn't dead already, I would beat her to death.

I'm sure I've scandalized everyone else in the ever-shrinking family. We've got few rules in our clan, but not speaking ill of the newly dead is one of them. Ah well, truth hurts, sometimes.

Very soon after my little blowup, Mark sends everyone home. I'm sure I'm about to get bitched at for my outburst, but instead he curls up next to me. "How do you feel today," he asks me, and before I can help myself, I start to cry. "I feel like shit. I've never watched anyone... you know... die before. I don't want this regret."

"Forget regret, or life is yours to miss," he sings quietly. "Oh god, not Life Support credos," I smile cynically. "Hey, I happen to believe in some of it, you know," he says and holds me close. I wonder if he ever gets tired of being the one to hold me up.

------

The funeral is beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that I almost forget it's for Mimi and spend half the time remembering Angel. I'm not really sure I'm over that whole brain breakdown yet, in fact. Time seems to be crossing over itself. One second it seems like the funeral has just ended. The next it seems like there is an hour left. Then it seems like three years ago when I was preparing to go to Santa Fe... Then like right now, right this second, reality.

We actually go to the Life Cafe for dinner. Benny laughs about bringing Muffy's dad there after Maureen's show three years ago. About how he explained away La Vie Boheme as "those crazy Chelsea boys" and "insane ex-roomates". Even I have to laugh at that. We start talking about Mimi after we order dinner and by desert, we are talking about Angel. Mimi and Angel, Angel and Mimi... two of us gone already, and two more with death sentences to live out. Collins smiles at me across the table. I'm sure he understands where my mind has wandered.

We drink, a lot. In fact, we close down the Life Cafe. It's three AM when we stumble out, and Collins drives everyone home. While the rest of us were drinking the last three bottles of wine, he was drinking strong coffee and water. Good man. Mark and I walk... Well, okay, we stumble home.

We don't even get inside the door before we start kissing. We kiss every few steps up to the loft. It takes us forever to get there, but neither of us wants to stop kissing. I think I may be drunker on him than on the wine. He could easily fatally wound me just by denying me of himself.

The loft is warm. Warm. So very warm. Benny finally fixed the heat in the building. I've decided I love him along with the rest of the world for the moment. Wine does that. So does kissing Mark. I pull away from Mark. "I wonder which group we fall into," I say, and he looks confused. "Chelsea boys or ex-roomates," I laugh, and pretty soon we are both giggling like children. "Roger, Roger, Roger," he laughs and pulls me down on the couch.

-------

I don't know how we make it to the bedroom, but we do. The world is full of hands and faces and cocks and kisses. Mark kisses down my chest. He trails hot kisses over my stomach and down further still. He kisses down my legs, skipping over my penis and I groan.

He kisses down to my ankle and works his way back up the other side. It tickles when he nibbles at my knee and I laugh. He smiles his little half smile at me and rests his head against my thigh. So often I see traces of pain in him. I have no idea what is going on in his head. I wish that I did.

Mark suddenly smiles fully and moves up to kiss my lips. We lay there, for hours it seems, kissing. I've lost all track of time before he moves back down my body. His lips are deliciously warm against my flesh. The heat of his mouth slides over the head of my penis and down. There is something almost fragile about him as he fucks me with his mouth. His tongue catches under the head of my cock and my eyes actually roll back in my head for a second.

He teases me with his lips and tongue and then his hands. His fingers are long and thin, piano player's hands. He licks my ass while his hands keep moving on my cock and my moans take on a new heat. My body is tensing up and he moves faster. I'm almost ready to cum when he wraps his fingers tightly around the base of my penis. "Not yet," he whispers as I try not to whimper. The bastard actually laughs then. "Poor baby," he says and I groan.

He really laughs then. If I didn't know him better, I would say he's enjoying this whole torture thing.


	8. Six Months

The next morning I wake up with a hangover. Mark is still asleep beside me and I curl up against him. I'm thinking over last night in my mind when it hits me. He didn't use a condom. We didn't use a condom. Sex as death and all that fucked up imagery.

I have to leave. I can't take this shit. I can't know that I've killed him. I can't live knowing he's going to die because of me. I KNOW about the communicability rate, and I'm sure if I called Collins he would tell me to chill my ass out... I need to talk to Collins. I need to get out of here. I need to leave.

I'm pulling on my pants when he wakes up. His sleepy eyes stare at me. "Where are you going?" he asks and I mutter something about taking a walk. He looks suddenly more alert. "Rog... is anything wrong? What's going on?" But I can't explain. I can't tell him that he forgot the condom.

I'm grabbing my coat from the couch when he comes up behind me. "Roger, you need to know something," he says. I turn to look at him, and he looks so strong and happy and real. "If this is about last night, you need to know that I did it on purpose."

I nearly hit him then.

"Come here," he says quietly and I am dragged behind him to his bed and he picks up the camera. "Mark, don't you dare," I say, and he shakes his head. "No, I have something I want you to watch, I don't want to film you," he says and hooks the wire from projector onto the camera. He aims it at the wall and presses buttons.

His face fills the wall. He's wearing the clothes he left the hospital in and his face looks weary. "Rog," he says on the screen, "I've just gotten home from the hospital. I'm filming this now, because I may not be able to say what I want to say when the time comes. I need to explain some things to you. Number one. I know you think I am really stupid right now. In fact, you've probably just tried to leave, and I'm probably sitting on your chest making you watch this."

His recorded self pauses here for a second, and I "hmph" at the real Mark standing nervously next to the bed. "So, as I was saying," he continues, "you think I'm stupid. You think I 'forgot' to put a condom on you. You think I was caught up in the passion or too drunk or some happy bullshit like that. Let me set the record straight right here, I did not forget anything. In fact, I've thought long and hard about all of this. I made a conscious decision. I want to be with you, and if that means dying with you, then I'm there.

In case you haven't noticed, Roger, I love you. I want to be with you on this road. If that's foolhardy, well then, I'm a fool. At least I am a fool who had a choice." The tape goes black there, and I don't move. I can't speak. A few minutes later Mark disconnects the camera and turns it toward me. "I really don't feel like talking to the fucking folks at home, Mark," I say, but he doesn't shut off the camera. "I want it on film," he says, and I look up. He has tears in his eyes. "Want WHAT on film?" I ask. "Your leaving. I mean... you ARE leaving, right?" he says.

I can't decide if I want to beat him or kiss him.

We talk. We argue. We fight and almost come to blows. And finally, we come to a decision. For six months, we will use condoms. Every single time. In six months, he gets tested. If he's positive, there's really no reason for condoms anymore. If he's negative, we continue using condoms. It's the only way I can bring myself to promise to stay.

-------

Six months is nothing in the grand scheme of things. Six months of my taking AZT and singing with the band. Six months of him filming another movie. He won't tell me what this one is about. He's talking to the family a lot on film, though. Six months feels like forever when you are waiting. And the waiting doesn't end there.

Why does it still take a week to get results? He won't let me go with him, so I am left at home to pace while he and Collins go to the clinic. It feels like it takes all day for him to get back. I miss him when he's gone, anyway, but this is maddening.

By the time he gets home, I'm frantic. He walks through the door with a big smile on his face and I feel my body relax. Then Collins walks in. He isn't smiling. I look back and forth between them. Mark walks past me, stopping just long enough to kiss my forehead. "Be right back," he says and goes to the bedroom. I look at Collins, but he isn't giving me any clues.

Mark comes out with a package of condoms. "See these?" he says, and I see it is a new box. He takes them to the trashcan and throws them in. "That is the last fucking box of those I'm ever buying." "So, you're..." "Positive? No," he says and I stare at him. "Not yet. I let you have your six months, Roger. It's my turn." 


	9. In Our Own Little World of Love

At this last proclimation, Collins turns and slams out of the loft. Mark looks after him. "He doesn't understand," he says. "Actually, I would say he understands perfectly well, Marky. He knows what it's like to know you are dying every day. He knows about the way you look at people walking past you on the street hoping that none of them are carrying the cough that will kill you. He understands more than you know." I can't help but shout, hoping it will get through his thick skull that I am saving him from living hell.

"Oh. You don't understand either," he says, tears filling his eyes. "Roger, do you know what it's like knowing that the only person who has ever made you happy is on one long goodbye tour? That no matter how good you are to them, no matter how much you love them... that they ARE leaving you, every day?" I'm still angry with him. I shake my head, more in frustration than anything.

"What you don't get, Rog, is that I wake up every night terrified of when you will be gone." He starts to break down more then, and I stand up. I want to hold him, but I can't make myself walk. He walks to me, instead, and leans against my chest. "I can't be without you... I'd die anyway, if you were gone."

I put my arms around him. I've never had anyone say anything even remotely like this to me. I'm not even sure what to say. It's worse that it is coming from Mark, who's always seemed so solid and strong. He's showing me the weakest side of himself... and it is me. I am his weakness.

He looks up at me, seeming unsure of how to go on from here. Almost embarassed. Looking down at him, I see his fear and pain like a shroud around him. How can I have never noticed the anguish behind his eyes? Anguish and love.

I take him to bed.

It's scary to think of fucking him without protection. It's terrifying, in fact. But I will do it anyway, because I love him, and he swears this is what he wants.

We curl up in bed, naked, his back pressed tight against my chest. I hold him, my arms wrapped lazily around him. He plays with my hands, touching each of my fingertips to his lips. He bites gently on my thumb, and then harder. We both laugh. It is genuine laughter, and it breaks some of the awkwardness. Laying in bed together has become routine over the last few months, and this return to it has settled my mind. I kiss the back of his neck, gently and he moans way down deep in his throat.

There are sounds I actually work to get him to make, and that's one of them. I run my hand over his chest and down his flat stomach. I pinch his taut skin lightly and he makes a funny little sound like "Eep". I run my fingers along his hip bone, tickling, and down to his pubic hair. This elicits a slight chuckle and another moan. When I wrap my hand around his now swollen cock, I get the best sound. He gasps just a little and grinds his ass back against me.

Something about knowing he wants to share everything he can with me, even HIV, makes me want to be sweet and gentle with him. He moves enough to let my cock find its way to his ass and I move my hand from his penis to around his thin hip. I pull him back slowly until he is firmly against me. He sudders slightly and tightens around my cock.

I move myself back just a little, and slide back into him. I'm thrusting slowly. He reaches back to my hip and pulls me firmly forward. He moans again, and I wrap my hand back around his cock. My hand moves in the same rhythm as my thrusts. He arches himself backwards to meet me faster and harder. My balls tighten slightly and I see his jaw clench. He's not making a sound, trying to hold on.

I fuck him harder and faster. He's making a small whimpering sound that makes me insane. He starts to say my name in a whisper just before I cum, and as I do I feel his body shudder roughly and his dick spills hot cream over my hand. He presses his ass as hard as he can against me and we both moan.

We are quiet for a few minutes, just laying together. I kiss his shoulders and he turns his face toward me. I kiss his cheek and he smiles at me, as honest and open a smile as I have ever seen him smile. "I love you," he whispers and I feel a smile break out on my face. "I love you too, Marky."

------

We are curled up on the couch drinking tea and relishing the quiet when the real world decides to intrude on us again. The phone rings, and we both groan. "We screen," Mark says and I can't help myself. "Zoom in on the answering machine," I laugh, and he play hits me on the shoulder. "I haven't done that one in over a year, Roger!" he says and we both laugh.

The answering machine beeps and Maureen's voice comes through. "DAMMIT, guys," she shrills and we both jump slightly. "ANSWER the PHONE, DAMMIT! It's IMPORTANT!" Mark jumps for the phone and answers it. "Reen? What's wrong?" He listens for a minute and shakes his head at me. "I'll talk to her, Reenie. I promise." They talk another minute and then hang up.

"JoAnne, hmm?" I say. He nods at me and laughs. "She left yet again. Maureen is SURE that this time is for good." "Isn't EVERY time?" I ask and we both chuckle. The phone rings again, and Mark groans. "Dare I even guess who this is?" he asks and picks up the phone. "Hello JoAnne," he smiles and then hands the phone to me. "Your turn, Rog."

"I cannot BELIEVE HER!" she yelps when I say hello and I try not to laugh. "Jo? What's different this time?" I ask. "She's PREGNANT, THAT's what's different!" My eyes go wide and Mark mouths "what?" "Hang on, Jo," I say, and drop the phone on my lap and cover the mouthpiece. "Maureen... pregnant," is all I can choke out before he takes the phone out of my hand. "JoAnne? What is going on?" He listens silently, and coos at her a bit.

He stands up and goes to the window. He throws down the key and hangs up the phone. "She's a wreck," he says and I nod and put another pot of tea on. Joanne comes up the stairs and through the door. "Can you IMAGINE? She tried to tell me that she never SLEPT WITH HIM," she says as soon as she hits the front room, and I jump slightly. She rants while the tea is heating, she rants while she is drinking her tea, and through several more pots.

Maureen calls three times while she is still ranting. Each time, I take the phone to the other room and calm her down. The fourth time she calls she simply says, "Throw down the key, Roger." I panic and bit and try to decide what to do. Finally I think, "fuck it" and throw it down to her. She comes up the stairs and she and JoAnne start arguing. Mark and I go to the bedroom to give them space and curl up on the bed.

"Can you believe that?" he says and we both laugh. "Maureen... pregnant. Imagine how fucked up THAT kid's gonna be," I say and he tries not to laugh, but fails miserably. "That's not NICE, Roger," he says and smacks my butt. Then he lays his head on my chest.

It gets quiet in the loft, and Mark pops out of bed to see what's going on. "Oh my lord," he says and closes the door, "yet another scene wasted on the fags." I raise an eyebrow at him. "They are making out." "What a NOVEL idea," I say and pull him back onto the bed. 


	10. Maureen's Little Joke

"Ooooh, Kinky," Maureen says from the door and we break the kiss. "Reenie, you have the WORST timing," Mark says and laughs. "I'm sorry, Marky," she says and bounces over to the bed. She plops down in between us and I sigh. "Guess what?" she says, "JoAnne and I decided. We are giving YOU the baby!" "What the EVERLOVING FUCK?" I exclaim and she falls back giggling. "No, not really. Just wanted to see what you would say. But, we DO want you to be GodFaggies to him... her... it... whatever."

"Really, Maureen. Have a LITTLE tact, would you?" JoAnne smiles across at her. "We've decided to keep the baby. And stay together. With no more cheating. At all." She stares pointedly at Maureen. "Agreed," Maureen sighs and smiles. "And, we want you to be Godparents to the little..." "Crotchdropping," Maureen says and laughs hysterically.

I look at Mark. "What did I tell you?" I ask, and he snickers. "I cannot BELIEVE you just called our child a crotchdropping, Maureen," JoAnne says and looks pained. "Oh, Pookie. I'm kidding," Reenie says and giggles again.

They sit on our bed and talk with us for almost an hour. By the time they leave, I am ready for some peace and quiet. "Mark, let's go take a shower... together," I say and he smiles at me, looking weary. It's early in the morning and it's been a long day. I hope to offer him a little comfort while the water washes us clean.

I undress him. He gets embarassed by it, but he seems to enjoy it, too. Once in the shower, I wash his body slowly. He relaxes against the shower wall and smiles at me. "That feels so good, Baby," he says and then blushes. It isn't our way to use pet names for each other, but I actually enjoy it. I soap his legs and feet and he moans in pleasure. I tickle behind his knee and grin up at him as he chuckles. I wash him everywhere, taking extra time and attention to his dick. The soap makes it so slippery that it's hard to keep hold of it. I finally rinse him off and grab a towel from the rack. I dry his body gently and massage his head as I dry his hair. Then I lead him to bed.

"Play me a song," he says when I've tucked him in. "You haven't played me a song in a long time." I pick up the guitar and play Musetta's Waltz, and properly. "Beautiful," he says, "but not exactly what I meant, and you know it." I smile at him and play the opening cords to a song I wrote for him a few months ago. He's never heard the whole thing, just bits and peices I would peck out while he was editing film.

By the time I finish the song, he's fallen asleep. I laugh gently to myself and put the guitar away. I curl up next to him and try to sleep, but my mind is going a million miles an hour.

Mostly what I am thinking about is the family, and the missing members. I think about Angel and how she would have loved to see Mark and I like this. I think about how she would have laughed and said she always knew Marky liked boys, but she never would have guessed it from her "Rogie-poo". I think about Mimi, of course. She's been on my mind a lot lately, as we've been getting frequent updates on the court dates.

Mark turns over in his sleep and wraps his arms around me. He kisses my shoulder and nuzzles his face into my neck. I close my eyes.

-------

I wake up to the smell of bacon. Bacon and coffee. And some wonderfully marvelous sweet smell. I hop out of bed and use the bathroom before heading toward the kitchen. I hear two voices talking and figure out quickly that it's Collins and Mark. When I walk in, Collins grins at me and offers me a plate. "I had a little hunch," he says, "that you could use breakfast. I heard Maureen's expecting." He laughs a deep hearty laugh. I'm glad that his bad mood has passed and I gladly sit down on the chair next to Mark, curling my legs under me.

"You know, when I was a kid, we used to call sitting like this 'Indian-style' but everyone is so PC these days we can only say 'cross legged'. I wonder why everyone went so PC all the sudden?" I look back and forth between Collins and Mark. They are grinning like idiots at each other. "Okay, what's going on?" I ask, and Mark beams at me. "Collins is in love," he says and they both laugh. I'm confused as hell. They always do this to me right when I get up so I can't follow the train of thought. Damn them.

"With WHO?" I ask and they both laugh again. I'm really getting pissed off now. "JESUS, MEN!" Collins loses it, laughing, then. "Roger, really! Calm down." Mark is snickering into his hand, and I wrap my arm around him and tickle him on the back of his neck. He giggles more and shrieks. "TELL ME!" I start to laugh and tickle him more.

"B-B-B-Ben-Benny," Mark giggles out and I stop tickling him. "What the... Collins, you HAVE to be kidding me. BENNY? As in Benjamin Coffin III? As in our used-to-be-friend-and-roomate-turned-landlord BENNY? What has POSSESSED you?" They both nearly fall off their chairs laughing then. "No, really... I mean.. damn. I'm stunned. It's just... BENNY? What happened with him and Muffy? And WHEN? And... you know what, don't tell me. I don't want to know about your love life." I shudder slightly and start to eat my food.

"He and Muffy. Well, that was a marriage of convience that wound up not so convieniant for any of the parties involved." Collins stops laughing. "As for when? Well, it all started after Angel's funeral. I was so fucking sad all the time. And Benny was always right there, ready to listen or talk or pay the bills. I decided one night to thank him for all the support he had given to all of us, and we went out drinking. He kissed me, and I just figured he was drunk and being stupid, but he called me the next week and asked if we could go out again."

"The rest," Mark says, turning to me, "Is history. Our Collins and our oh so beloved friend-and-landlord have fallen head over heels in love." My mind is spinning. Collins and Benny. This is all way too much. Collins laughs again, and I look up at him. "You should see your face, Rog. You look like your cat just died or something."

The phone rings and the machine picks up. The voice coming out of the answering machine says, "Roger, this is your..." "Mother," I finish, picking up the phone. "Hello, Roger. I was wondering if you were going to answer today, or if I was going to have to talk to that horrible machine again. I don't know why you don't ever just answer the phone. Are you having financial problems again? Do you need me to send money? How about food? Are you eating? Taking your AZT like you should? How is that lovely Collins doing? And Mark? How IS Mark these days, Roger, you never talk to me anymore and..." "MOTHER, breath," I laugh and she inhales deeply. "For goodness sakes, old woman. Let a guy get a word in edgewise, huh?"

"We screen because we always have. We are eating fine, and we have money. Collins is actually here right now. We were all eating breakfast and talking when you called. Mark is great. He's eating pancakes. I haven't taken my AZT this morning, but that's because I get sick if I take it on an empty stomache. Any other questions?" She smiles into the phone. I don't even have to see her to know she's doing it. "I'm sorry, Roger darling. I just love you. I worry. Moms are supposed to do that, you know." "I know, Mom," I say, "But mind your blood pressure. You worry too much. I've gotta run." We say our goodbyes and hang up the phone.

"Still can't tell her can you?" Collins says, frowning slightly at me. "Yeah, no. Not yet. I don't think she would disapprove of us," I wrap my arms around Mark, "But I'm not sure how she would take the full 'Hey Mom, guess what... I like boys.' proclimation." Mark looks at me with a sad smile. "Next time she calls, I'm telling her," he says and moves to pick up his plate. He carries it to the sink and rinses it off before walking to the bedroom. Collins stands up and takes his plate to be rinsed too before giving me a big clap on the shoulder and heading off. I sigh and walk to the bedroom.

Mark is laying on the bed. His jaw is clenched and his eyes seem glassy. I go to the bed and slide next to him. "Marky, what's going on?" "Roger, you have to tell her," he says, and I nod. "No, not like 'okay, I'll tell her someday', Roger. You have to tell her soon. I'm not just somone you are playing a game with. You keep saying you love me, but you won't even tell your mother. Practically the second you were with Mimi, your mom knew. Are you ashamed of us?" He starts to cry, silently. I get up.

"Where are you going?" he asks and I don't say a word to him. I just walk into the living room and to the phone. I dial my mother's house and when she picks up I say, "Mom. It's me. I just wanted you to know something." "Are you sick?" I stop for a minute and raise an eyebrow. "You mean OTHER than the HIV? No. No, Mom. I should tell you... Hell I should have told you a while ago... Mark and I, Mom. We're together." She sighs into the phone, "Oh, is THAT all? I thought it was something SERIOUS!" and I laugh. "Okay, that's all I needed to say." We hang up again and when I get back to the room, Mark is sitting up in the bed, a horrified look on his face. "What did she SAY?" he asks and I sit down, pretending to be dejected.

"Well, she disowned me. Told me she would never call again. She called me a flaming queer and told me I would be lucky to ever work in this town again and..." I start laughing and he hits my shoulder. "You JERK! I thought you were SERIOUS at first!" I prop myself up agianst the pillows and pull him to me. "No, actually, she said 'is that all' and 'I thought it was something serious'". He smiles and puts his head on my shoulder. "I didn't really expect you to tell her," he says and I kiss his forhead. "I can't bear to see you sad, honey," I say and he looks up at me. I kiss him gently. 


End file.
